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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28829775">night after the morning</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yoonki_397/pseuds/Yoonki_397'>Yoonki_397</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>SEVENTEEN (Band)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Vampire, Angst, Immortality, M/M, Temporary Character Death, also most of this is set in the joseon era so Seoul is Hanseong just btw!, jeonghan is kind of dramatic but...he is a vampire so....</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 12:54:43</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,476</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28829775</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yoonki_397/pseuds/Yoonki_397</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“Would you die for me?” Seokmin asks in a whisper, as if posing the question any louder would break the spell the morning sun had cast on them.</p>
<p>The question hangs in the air between them. Jeonghan isn't sure if he's meant to take the question seriously or not, so he answers in the only way he can think of.</p>
<p>"Again?" </p>
<p> </p>
<p>[Jeonghan spends his immortality with Seokmin at his side.]</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Lee Seokmin | DK/Yoon Jeonghan</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>81</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Seventeen Rare Pair Fest: 2 Rare 2 Pair</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>night after the morning</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">



        <li>In response to a prompt by
            Anonymous in the <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/collections/SVTRarePairFest2">SVTRarePairFest2</a>
          collection.
        </li>
    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p><strong>Prompt:</strong><br/> </p>
<p>
  <strong>"Would you die for me?"</strong>
</p>
<p>
  <strong>"Again?"</strong>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>I wanna thank the op of this prompt for posting it, it really inspired me and I hope that this fic lives up to what you wanted!</p>
<p>I also wanna thank <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/wawayaga/pseuds/wawayaga">wawayaga</a> for beta-ing this for me, along with helping me to plot a lot of it along with <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/lgbtksoo/pseuds/geguri">geguri</a>; love and appreciate you guys so much&lt;3</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Jeonghan loses track of the time they’ve spent together.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He finds that with immortality comes a sort of weightlessness, a lightness to your existence that grows over time. Without a true, final end point, one tends to move through their life almost as an observer. Months stretch into years, then to decades until hundreds of years have passed before you realise. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Time passes, the world around them changes and grows, and they try and grow with it.  Seokmin cuts his hair until the longest curl covers his eyebrows, and Jeonghan makes sure to tell him how handsome he finds him. Learning to speak a new dialect is harder than they thought, especially when they only really spoke to each other the way they always had, but they make due. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>They make their new home in an apartment in what was Hanseong to them, but is now  Seoul, someplace high enough that they can see the entire city from their window. They make a game out of pointing out the areas that used to be a forest or a patch of farmland. That is, when they’re not tangled together in their sheets, enjoying each other’s company. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Of the two of them, Seokmin is the one who reminisces. He finds joy in recounting the  places they’ve lived, people they’ve met. He catalogues the different phases in their life like chapters in a novel, all rich descriptions of the grand adventure he’d grown to call their time together. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Jeonghan is more fond of tracking their lives like entries in a diary. Short bursts of moments that he kept mostly to himself. Private thoughts to think back on when the mood strikes him, regardless of their topic. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Seokmin isn’t one to dwell on unpleasant things, but Jeonghan finds solace in remembering. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>_________________</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The first time Jeonghan dies it is with a sigh and a smile. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>So many of the circumstances of it are lost to time but he remembers the feeling of death, the way it still sits in his chest like an old, nearly forgotten ache. There was the chill of the fever that had raked his body for longer than he could measure, the way it made his hair stick to his skin with sweat in dark waves. The tightness in his chest that followed the shallow rise and fall of his breathing. That state between waking and sleep that he had spent so much of his time floating in. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>More than anything he remembers pain, sharp and blinding and all encompassing. It colours what few memories he has of his mortal life, whiting them out completely. He had lost the faces of his parents, the names of his friends, the childhood he had spent in what was then a countryside but was now a sprawling city to the unforgiving grip dying had put on him.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Amongst the fog of illness and half-memories, however, he remembers Seokmin. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Seokmin, who had soothed him as best he could, had treated him gently even when he’d done nothing to deserve his kindness. He remembers the way Seokmin’s hands had brushed his hair away from his face as he laid in bed, the press of his lips against his knuckles as he thrashed with a spasm of pain.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Jeonghan’s final moments were spent in his company. He breathed his last mortal breaths to the sound of the tenor of Seokmin’s gentle reassurances that everything would be okay.  That he would make everything alright. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>In his last moments, Seokmin untied his hanbok with practiced ease. His fingertips brushed against his skin as they pushed aside the fabric. Jeonghan had always yearned for this moment, for Seokmin’s touch on him, for Seokmin in his bed. It was the first time it had ever happened and with hindsight he now cherished the memory of it. Like the first rays of sunlight after a storm, precious and almost hopeful. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Seokmin’s lips found his pulse easily. The pinpricks of his fangs had pressed against his skin, hesitant for a moment until Jeonghan had run a shaking hand through his hair to soothe him.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Jeonghan was familiar with the feeling of euphoria another person could give. He had made a living off drawing pleasure from others’ bodies, honed his craft and practiced his talent until it was the only thing that gave him worth. Nothing compared to the way the feeling of Seokmin’s teeth in his throat had made him feel. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>With the bite came relief, as blinding and as all encompassing as the pain it had replaced. Even as his body went slack and his vision slowly faded, Jeonghan could only feel the pleasure of it. The feeling of Seokmin solid and grounding in his arms, his lips on his skin and his hands soothing against the skin of his hips as life slowly drained from his body. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>_____</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>There wasn’t a word then for what they were, what Seokmin had turned him into. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>When he’d been alive, he hadn’t asked Seokmin what he was. Something about the question felt rude, as if by asking Jeonghan was questioning the fragile thing between them. As if putting his curiosity into worlds would make Seokmin disappear right before his eyes. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Centuries later there will be, they’d be spoiled for choice with words and turn of phrases from stories that get so close to describing what they are. Before then, they had nothing. Nothing to describe the shift from life to death, the way it sits in your chest like a breath you forgot you were holding. He tries not to think of it as hollowness. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Life with Seokmin is full, when they are together Jeonghan feels a happiness that he can’t remember ever feeling when he’d been alive. Seokmin guides him through his life after death by the hand, reassuring and indulgent. He lets Jeonghan familiarise himself with the thirst of his new found immortality and helps him to drink deep from it. With that, Jeonghan lets himself ask for what he couldn’t in life. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It’s a night like any other when he kisses Seokmin for the first time. His hands grip in the fabric of Seokmin’s jacket as he feels their lips move against each other. At some point Seokmin undresses him, and then himself, before laying them both onto the bedding spread out in their room. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Jeonghan thinks that maybe Seokmin is indulging him, that there’s no way he could have the same want that's burned in Jeonghan for so long, but the sound he makes when his hips are finally flush to Jeonghan tells him that Seokmin is enjoying this as much as Jeonghan is. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Seokmin had explained that he’d feel things more intensely than he had before, but Jeonghan couldn’t imagine that the feeling of Seokmin moving inside of him could feel like this. With every thrust, Jeonghan feels as if his body is being set alight, like he’s a flame being fueled and stoked until he combusts into an inferno.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ve wanted this for so long…” Jeonghan confesses with a choked gasp, words slipping from his lips before he can think. He’s surprised he’s able to form words when he feels so breathless and out of his mind.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Why didn’t you ever ask?” Seokmin brushes the hair that’s fallen into his ears away from his face, “I’d give you anything.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The words make Jeonghan’s ears ring, loud and melodic like birds chirping or the sound of chimes of the wind. There’s an ache in his chest as Seokmin’s hands move along his hips and settle in the dip of his waist, holding him like something precious. He’s never been confessed to, not seriously, but Jeonghan thinks that this must be what it feels like. That this bright, blinding feeling as he calls out Seokmin’s name must be the closest thing he’ll ever feel to love. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>In the quiet of their first night together, Jeonghan decides that it is impossible for there to be something lacking when Seokmin has already given him so much. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>_____</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Jeonghan doesn’t think about the circumstances and consequences of his existence until decades after Seokmin turns him.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>They’ve settled into a semblance of a normal life, Jeonghan continues to practice his singing and writing, and Seokmin continues to act as his devoted audience of one. They visit the villages closest to their home in Hanseong to hunt regularly, whisking away people no one will miss without any trouble. Their peace is disturbed only by a letter that arrives addressed to Jeonghan. The writing inside tells him that Kim Jiyeong is on her deathbed and requests his company by her side. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>When they finally arrive at her home, Jiyeong is restricted to her room. Her body, weaker and frailer than Jeonghan thought was possible for someone with as much life in her, could barely move enough to turn her head to greet them where they stood at her doorway. She’s so much older that Jeonghan remembers her being the last time they had seen her. It doesn’t feel right that the little girl who had run and played outside of his inn had grown to have hands that shook when he held them in his own when Jeonghan himself hadn’t changed.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Jeonghan and Jiyeong talk until the sun sets and then keep going until the candles in the room burn out. Jiyeong’s voice grates against the effort it takes to recount the moments they had spent together when she was growing up. Her laugh rattles in her chest when he tells her about the first hair pin he’d ever made her, one like the holding her hair in place now, and how much she hated it. He asks her if she had any regrets, unable to help himself from the nagging pit in his throat recalling her refusal to be turned when she had become an adult. She smiles and tells him no.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Moonlight shines brightly through the open window of the room when Seokmin comes to take him home. Jeonghan tells him that he’ll stay a little while longer but Jiyeong stops him by saying she’s too tired to keep talking. Jeonghan kisses her forehead before he goes, something he hasn’t done since she was a child, and tells her he loves her. She tells him she loves him too, thanking him for taking care of her before he leaves, and it hits him then how much he had viewed Jiyeong like his own child. Jeonghan wonders if this is how his parents had felt when he left home. If they, too, felt the dread of knowing they wouldn’t be seeing him again. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>They receive a letter informing them that Jiyeong has died a week later. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Jeonghan now knows what it’s like to take a life, has grown familiar with the feeling of a heartbeat slowly fading as the light leaves a person’s eyes. He has no experience watching one slip through his fingers. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Death as an observer is cruel. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It left no bliss, no sweet relief to those who lived through it. Only the bitter emptiness of a life lost without reason. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>_____</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>After Jiyeong dies, Jeonghan separates from Seokmin.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He tells him that it would be easier on his heart for him to be alone for some time, which is mostly the truth. Jeonghan can’t bring himself to explain to the other the wash of anger that falls on him whenever he looks at Seokmin, not when he’s unable to even explain it to himself. Jeonghan isn’t sure if it’s the grief of losing someone he’d helped raise or the regret of not being allowed to do anything to prevent it, there’s a weight bearing down on him that he feels as if he’d be crushed under if he spent a moment longer in Seokmin’s company. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He gathers the what little personal belongings he has and returns to the inn he owned a lifetime ago with enough copper to keep him comfortable for the better part of a year. He tells Seokmin he’ll be back before then, but it feels like a false promise even to his own ears. The new owner doesn’t recognise him, but he’s somehow given the room that used to be his own for his stay. Jeonghan thinks there’s a cruel irony in it, in him staying in the same place he’d taken his last breaths while he plays at being mortal, but he chooses to ignore it.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>On his own, Jeonghan grows to become older than he remembers his father being. The realisation of it reminds him of his sister, how young she had been the last time he’d seen her, before he was sent away from home to try and make something of himself. He tries not to dwell on the further realisation that, like his parents and Jiyeong, she had probably fallen victim to the passage of time. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Jeonghan thinks for the first time that what Seokmin had given him was a curse rather than a gift. That he’d selfishly taken away Jeonghan’s chance at truly being happy, and he’d been too blinded by kind words and gentle treatment to see the truth. Death was meant to be a bookend, a reward for having lived a life you found pride in, not the suffocating, neverending state Jeonghan forced upon him. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He lets the thoughts consume him. He lets himself believe the angry, bitter part of himself that tells him to blame everything and everyone for something that couldn’t be solved.  He lets his heart harden until he feels he’s finally able to breath again. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>_____</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Time alone makes Jeonghan cruel.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He sees it in the way Seokmin looks at him when they hunt together for the first time after reuniting. Gone is the hesitant, almost gentle way Jeonghan used to press his fangs into the veins of the people they drink from. Now Jeonghan feeds with abandon, teeth tearing into flesh until it’s loose and shredded, barely hanging on to the bone beneath it. He drinks until he feels the blood warm his cheeks and drip from his face. Until he feels like he’s alive again. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Seokmin tries to confront Jeonghan about his behaviour, tries to tell him that he’s being reckless and that he’s going to get himself hurt or worse but Jeonghan ignores him. He lets time swallow up Seokmin’s worries the same way that industry swallows up their Hanseong and turns it into Seoul, until both are stored in his subconscious somewhere. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Modern times” have made the city become grey in a way that matches Jeonghan’s bleak, cold mindset, and he appreciates it for being so kind as to accommodate him. The dark alleys and winding streets make hunting easier, even despite the blossoming trend of nightlife making it harder to lure people into seclusion. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Jeonghan is attempting to lure a foreign looking girl away on her walk home one night, asking her if she is lost and turning on his charm to get her to follow him towards the alleyway that he had left Seokmin in. Maybe he’d been too forceful, maybe he should have waited a bit longer before grabbing onto her arm but in the moment nothing feels off. He doesn’t make it past the mouth of the alley when he’s reminded of Seokmin’s words. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Jeonghan feels the white hot sting of pain on the side of his neck before he realises what happened. He raises his hand to press against his neck, and is met with a warm steady stream of blood pouring out of him. He sees the silvery glint of a knife blade from the corner of his eye, short enough to conceal but long enough to do damage, as it’s ripped from the column of his neck. He has enough strength in him to try and call out to Seokmin, the syllables of his name a garbled mess in his mouth, before he’s falling to his knees and onto the wet pavement. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>When Jeonghan dies for the second time, it’s abrupt. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>There is no gentle sigh or smile, just the choked off cry of Seokmin’s name as blood gushes from him and his vision blacks out.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>_____</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>When Jeonghan wakes up again, it is in Seokmin’s arms. He can feel the movement of his body and hear the shuffle of Seokmin’s steps as he carries him. His vision is blurred when he opens his eyes, but he makes out the curve of Seokmin’s jaw and the point of his nose. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He’s completely covered in blood, and with his senses dulled Jeonghan can’t tell if it’s his or someone else’s. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Seokmin…,” he tries to get his attention, but his voice is barely a whisper.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Jeonghan feels the slight change in the other’s gait, before it returns to his regular pace. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Let’s go home, Jeonghan.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>_________________</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>They never talk about that night after it happens. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Seokmin isn’t one to dwell on unpleasant things, and Jeonghan's memory isn’t clear enough after bleeding out for him to comment on the events. They silently agree to not bring it up, at least not directly, but the thought of it comes to Jeonghan’s mind often. Even now, with his head clouded in post orgasmic bliss, Jeonghan can’t help but feel his mind wander. The sun is rising on the first day of a new year, of a new century, and the occasion makes Jeonghan feel a bit introspective. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Seokmin-ah, have you ever thought about how you’d die?” It’s not much in the way of sweet talk, but they’ve been together long enough that neither of them questions the topic. He watches the way the beams of morning sunlight curve against Seokmin’s cheeks as he waits for his response. If he was still in the business of writing poetry, Jeonghan thinks he could fill tomes with verses on the sight of Seokmin like this.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“When I was younger, I always thought it would be nice to die in battle, protecting something I believed in,” Seokmin starts, face breaking into a boyish grin before he continues, “but now I think there’s honour enough in dying by your side.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You should be embarrassed at how lovesick you sound.” Jeonghan tries to sound bashful in his stead, but it’s hard to keep the laughter out of his voice. Seokmin’s lips pressed against his in the next moment is enough to save his face, and thanks him by allowing Seokmin to deepen the kiss sooner than usual. They kiss until Jeonghan feels himself grow breathless, legs and hands tangling in the sheets. Jeonghan studies Seokmin’s face again when they pull apart, and sees the way his mind is racing.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Would you die for me?” Seokmin asks in a whisper, as if posing the question any louder would break the spell the morning sun had cast on them. He runs his fingers along the curve of Jeonghan’s torso, following the slope of his waist as it dips to meet his hips and then back up again, brushing away the fabric of the sheet draped across them in his wake. The scar on his stomach is exposed with the movement, and Jeonghan is still surprised after all this time how the skin around it breaks out into goosebumps in reaction to the cool air of the room. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Seokmin pauses his hand on it, thumb pressed gently against the jagged tail of where it connects to his hip bone. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The question hangs in the air between them. Jeonghan isn't sure if he's meant to take the question seriously or not, so he answers in the only way he can think of. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Again?” Jeonghan says it as light as he had his own question, but Seokmin's expression tells him that he’d chosen the wrong response. He tries to turn away from Jeonghan and hide his face, but Jeonghan reaches out to cup his cheeks in his hands before he can finish the movement. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Watching the way Seokmin’s face falls, how hurt and guilt blooms behind his eyes, Jeonghan realises for the first time that he and Seokmin share drastically different opinions on death. Seokmin only saw death as an ending. He knew it solely as the draining of light from someone’s eyes, the slow painful process taking life from another person. Seokmin had never experienced death the same way Jeonghan had, and feared it the same way any mortal would. He didn’t know the gift that it was, the gift that he had given to Jeonghan. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“For you,” Jeonghan makes sure to meet Seokmin’s eyes so that the weight of his words, the sincerity of his devotion, sink in, “I’d gladly die a thousand times. I’d die once for every year of life you’ve given me.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>For Jeonghan, it had hurt to be alive more than it had hurt him to die.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>With everything life had stolen from him, Seokmin had returned it to him tenfold.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I don't usually put this in my final notes but for a fic like this, there's a lot that I couldn't fit in, so here's some offscreen action/fun facts~</p>
<p>- This fic is actually part of a greater vampire au that is still in the works; it's sort of a midquel between the action of the main fics and gives more background to Jeonghan's character in them!</p>
<p>- While human, Jeonghan owned an inn and worked as a kisaeng, which were courtesans who were trained in music and poetry to entertained the upper class; kisaeng were incredibly respected as artists, and Jeonghan was one of, if not the most popular in Seoul (there's more detail in the main fics of this verse so no spoilers!!) </p>
<p>- Jeonghan has a little memory chest with keepsakes from his human life that he carries with him when they change locations; the most important things inside are a portrait of his younger sister, the first hair pin he'd made for Jiyeong, and a love letter Seokmin had written for him</p>
<p>- People in the Joseon Period were <i>wild</i> for portraits; Jeonghan, now that he's much calmer, has translated that appreciation into a love for selfies</p>
<p>Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed it!</p>
<p>find me on <a href="https://twitter.com/bf_wonwoo">twitter</a></p>
<p>talk to me on <a href="https://curiouscat.qa/bf_wonwoo">cc</a></p></blockquote></div></div>
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